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Pony Rider Boys in Louisiana

<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> <h3>WOLVES ON THE TRAIL</h3> Stacy Brown was so overcome with his own importance that evening that he could not unbend sufficiently to talk with his companions, save for an occasional word with Tad. "Stacy has a swelled head," observed Ned Rector. "He has a right to have. Can't you let him have the full enjoyment of his bravery?" laughed Tad. "Did he really do anything worth while?" asked Ned. "I have told you he did." "He had a gun, didn't he?" "Yes." "Well, then, I don't see anything so great about what he did." "Then I'll tell you. Had Stacy relaxed his vigilance, or been the least bit slow or uncertain, that fellow would have shot him, and Chunky knew that. If you don't think that took some nerve you don't know what nerve is." "Oh, yes he does," spoke up Walter. "Ned has a lot of it." "Nerve?" grinned Tad. "Yes." Rector gazed at Tad. "Shall I feel all puffed up or get mad at that remark?" questioned Ned. "That depends upon the way you take it, Ned." Stacy sauntered past them at this juncture casting an indifferent glance in Ned's direction, then continued on his journey up and down the camp. Ned said the fat boy reminded him of a pouter pigeon with its tail feathers pulled out. "Do you know what the plans are for tomorrow?" inquired Tad. "I think Mr. Lilly intends to go out on the trail again." "What kind of trail?" asked Stacy, stopping before them. "Oh, you have condescended to speak to me, have you?" demanded Ned. "I am not addressing you as Ned Rector. I am addressing you as a part of the Pony Rider outfit," replied Stacy coldly. A grin spread slowly across the countenance of Ned Rector. Then he laughed. "Chunky," he said, "if I thought you were half as big a fool as you appear to be, I would throw you out of camp." "What do you think about it, Tad? Would he?" questioned Stacy. "That depends. Do you mean could he?" "Yes." "Then I will answer 'no.' I don't think any one boy in the camp could put you out if you had made up your mind to stay," replied Tad. "There! You have an expert opinion, Mr. Rector. Kindly do not refer to the subject again," begged Stacy airily. "I can't afford to discuss such trivial matters. What kind of trail are we going out on, do you know?" "Same old paw-prints—bears," complained Ned. "Find any signs today?" "Oh, yes, the dogs ran the scent out. The bears took to the water, and we didn't pick up the scent again, for the day was nearly done by that time. Mr. Lilly decided to come home, especially as he hadn't heard anything of you and Stacy, nor of me. He nearly had a fit when he found that you had not been seen or heard from." "Didn't he think we could take care of ourselves?" demanded Tad. "I told him you could, especially Chunky," with a mischievous glance at the fat boy. "But for some reason he was considerably upset over your absence. When we got to the four-blaze tree, I think he began to understand that you had your head with you." "He didn't find the deer signs?" asked Tad. "No. He would have done so, I guess, if we hadn't heard you when we did." The guide joined the boys at this juncture. He was smiling good-naturedly, regarding Tad and Stacy, in both of whom he felt a new interest. They had shown the veteran guide something that day that he never had seen in lads of their age. "Where do we go tomorrow?" questioned Butler. "I am going to try to pick up the bear trail again. They gave us the slip beautifully today." "Would it not be better to make a new camp farther in?" asked Tad. "I had thought of that, but I think we are well enough located right where we are. The bears are likely to round back, for this is their stamping ground. I have seen several tree-hollows where they have made their winter quarters." "Do the bears live in trees?" cried Walter. "I thought they always lived in caves and dens." "In some parts of the country they do. There aren't any caves down here, so they seek out hollows in the trees far above the ground for their winter quarters, or else go into a hollow log. In the spring they come down and begin to feed on the ash buds and the tender young cane, called 'mutton cane.' At this season they are quite likely to take to killing stock on the plantations. Just now they are at their best, in weight, in cunning and killing abilities. One of these bears would as lief tackle a man as a yearling calf." "I hope one tackles me. I need something to limber up my muscles. I haven't had anything exciting on this trip," declared Stacy Brown. "Oh, you will get limbered up all right if you meet one of those fellows," answered Lilly, fixing his twinkling eyes on the fat boy. "They will fix your joints so they will bend one way as easily as another." The plans for the morrow's hunting were explained by Lilly. The arrangements were to be about the same, the party being split up and stationed at different points in the canebrake. Tad, being considered the best woodsman, was to be sent on ahead with Stacy at or about the point where the dogs had lost the trail that day. The rest of the party were to draw in, eventually converging on that point. Lilly had an idea that the bears would have returned to their own ground in the night. In that event they would be driven from the cane by the dogs again, in which case one or the other of the party might get a shot. Tad and Stacy were pleased with the arrangement. It sent them off where they would be wholly on their own responsibilities. "But don't go off on any long hikes as you did today," warned the guide. "We shan't unless we have to," answered Tad. "If we get a bear and someone steals it, why, we shall have to go after it." "Let me know before you do. I reckon I should like to have a part in that chase," said the guide almost savagely. An early start was made on the following morning, Stacy solemn as an owl, the other boys full of laughter and joking, turning most of their pleasantry on the fat boy. "I'll fetch back something for you tonight," threatened Stacy. "A bear?" quizzed Ned. "If one gets in my way, yes. If I can't do any better I'll fetch home one of those sweet-voiced owls that you are so fond of." "Ugh! Don't you bring one of those horrible things here," protested Walter. Tad and the fat boy rode away ahead of the others. Lilly's face wore a grin. He evidently looked for the pair to distinguish themselves, and perhaps he felt reasonably certain that they would fall to the trail of the bear. At least, he had his own reasons for grinning. It was along towards noon, when the two boys had covered about half the distance to their destination, that Tad caught the sound of the dogs. The hounds were in full cry, though the cry was faint, showing that the animals were some distance away. The Pony Rider Boys listened attentively, trying to get the direction. "It seems to me that they are heading towards us," said Tad. Stacy agreed with a nod. "Suppose we get over there in the cane where we shall not be so likely to be seen. Which way is the breeze?" "Blowing that way," answered Chunky, pointing in a direction away from the cane. "Then we don't want to go there. The breeze will carry our scent to the bears if any are between us and the dogs. I think we had better haul off to the eastward for half a mile or so. That should put us out of the direct line and yet place us within shooting distance." They rode cautiously away, the horses now pricking up their ears, for the animals heard the yelps of the hounds and perhaps understood its meaning. That they were not baying told Tad that the dogs had not yet sighted their quarry. As soon as they got in sight of the bear they would bay deeply and hoarsely. The barking grew louder as the dogs drew nearer, then all at once a new sound was borne to the ears of the Pony Rider Boys. It was a shrill yelping. Tad looked at Stacy, and Stacy looked at Tad. The latter shook his head, indicating that he did not understand this new sound. "If it weren't for the fact that we knew they were on the trail, I should think they were fighting," declared Butler. "Why don't you go and find out?" Tad reflected over this. "I'll do it," he decided. "You follow on down parallel with the trail, Chunky. You can't miss your way if you will keep just at the edge of this row of cane, which will lead you to the place where we were to meet the others." "No, thank you. Not for mine. I go with you if you go. You aren't going to leave me here all alone in the swamp, not if I know it." "What, are you afraid of the bears?" scoffed Tad. "No, I am not afraid of any bears that ever walked, but I'm afraid of those hideous owls," declared Stacy, glancing apprehensively up into the tall cypress towering above them. "Well, you are a silly! All right; come along then. We shall probably scare the game away, but something is wrong over yonder." Tad took the lead, driving as fast as he could, cutting a new trail with the confidence of an old hunter in the canebrake. They burst out into an open space, open so far as cane was concerned, and gazed in amazement at flying, snarling, yelping heaps of fur. "Look at the dogs! Look at the dogs!" cried Chunky. "They're fighting each other." Tad's face flushed and his eyes flashed. "Chunky, don't you—don't you see what it is?" cried Tad excitedly. "'Course I do. It's those confounded dogs fighting when they ought to be chasing bear." "No! The hounds are fighting a band of wolves!" shouted Butler. "Wolves?" gasped Stacy. "Yes. The wolves have attacked our dogs. They have killed some of them. Are you game to tackle them?" "I'm game for anything that spells trouble. Whoop! I'm the original wolf-killer from the plains of Arizona, if that's where they come from. Get to them! I'm with you." Tad grinned harshly. Putting spurs to his mount he dashed straight toward the battling dogs and wolves. He had heard that wolves sometimes attacked the hunting dogs right ahead of the hunters themselves, but he had always considered this to be a hunter's story. Now he saw the verification before his own eyes. "Use your revolver and be careful that you don't shoot me," yelled Tad. Bang! Stacy had let go almost before the words were out of Tad's mouth—and missed his mark. Butler rode straight at a snarling, yelping bunch. His bush-knife was in his right hand. Leaning over he made a pass at the nearest wolf but missed it because the horse jumped at that second, nearly unseating the boy. Tad bounded on to the next fighting heap. This time a vicious swing of the bush-knife brought results. He wounded a wolf, sending the beast slinking away yelping. In the meantime Stacy Brown's revolver was popping away, now and then fanning the body of a wolf with a bullet, but oftener missing the beast entirely. Still, Stacy was having the time of his life. He was yelling and whooping louder than the desperate combatants. Tad was amazed at the pluck of the attacking force. He never had supposed that wolves possessed the courage to attack dogs, especially in the presence of human beings. These wolves had not only the courage to attack the dogs, but they were snarling and snapping at the legs of the horses, now and then making a leap at Tad when he had interfered with their sport. It was an exciting battle, the most exciting that the two boys had ever seen. It seemed to them that there must have been a full hundred of the cowardly beasts in the pack, though in all probability there were not more than half this number, which was an unusually large pack at that. "Shoot carefully. Don't waste your ammunition," warned Tad. "Whoope-e-e-e!" howled the fat boy, letting go a shot that this time sent a beast limping away, the shot having broken its leg. "Can I shoot? Well, I guess I can shoot. Y-e-o-w!" Tad's horse was getting so frantic at the frequent attacks on its legs that he could do nothing with it. Moments were precious because the dogs were getting the worst of the battle. Suddenly Butler leaped from his horse thinking to be able to do greater execution on the ground. The wolves, perhaps believing that this was a signal of surrender, turned snarling upon him. At this juncture the horse jerked the check rein from his hand and jumped away, leaving the Pony Rider Boy standing there facing a large part of the pack. <center><ANTIMG src="images/pack.jpg" alt="Tad Butler Faced the Pack."> Tad Butler Faced the Pack. </center> With the bush-knife in his left hand now, revolver in the right, the boy slashed and shot alternately. Nearly every shot and nearly every pass of the knife reached the body of a wolf, not always killing, but in almost every instance doing the animal no little damage. It was likely to be a sad day for the brave dogs, which, the more they were overwhelmed, the more desperately they fought. Some of the dogs were already dead, or crawling away in their death agonies. All of the dogs would be killed unless the wolves were swiftly driven off. "Chunky," yelled Tad, "can't you use your rifle without hitting the dogs?" "I can try," panted the fat boy. "Rustle it, then! Don't mind me. I'll try to keep out of the way of your bullets." Stacy raised his rifle, taking quick aim at a big gray wolf. Bang! went the overcharged cartridge, with a noise so like that of a cannon that Stacy's horse leaped to one side, while the fat boy went in the other direction, landing on his head in the ooze. Yelping in their mad joy, a dozen wolves charged upon the momentarily helpless Chunky. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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